


Where Have You Bean All My Life?

by Agib



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: (yet...), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Spencer Reid, Coffee Shops, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Derek Morgan, M/M, POV Derek Morgan, Penelope is a good wing woman, Pining, Protective Gideon, Slow Burn, Slow Burn But I Haven't Decided How Slow, Spencer Reid Doesn't Work for the BAU, Team as Family, Undercover Missions, but lowkey hurt i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:02:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agib/pseuds/Agib
Summary: It's rare enough that anyone on the team has to take on undercover work for more than a single night, and even more uncommon that the CIA happens to be splitting a case with the FBI.So, really, Morgan shouldn't complain. But he does, and he's wholeheartedly dedicated to hating this assignment up until the damn college kid, who looks like he survives on coffee alone, bustles into the café.
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Jason Gideon & Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia & Derek Morgan
Comments: 190
Kudos: 615





	1. Rise and Grind

**Author's Note:**

> I would die for any kind of alternate reality fics, so this is me dipping my toe into that pool. More drastic AU's are likely to come...

The whole team is sat at the round table and Derek has never been _less_ excited about a case in his life before.

“I don’t even know how to make coffee unless its instant,” Morgan argues deftly. He has one hand pressed against his forehead, all his focus is on restraining himself from retaliating at Prentiss and Garcia’s poorly concealed laughter.

“Aw, Chocolate Adonis don’t pout,” Penelope manages. Hotch is sat across from him, JJ stood at his side clutching the damned case report looking half remorseful and half entertained. “You’d make such a cute hipster-barista,” Penelope giggles from his left. She’s swanning her hands over her face and dabbing beneath her eyes as if tears had spilled, because the prospect of him in a coffee shop is _oh so hilarious._

“Already halfway there,” Emily mutters, relishing in the burst of annoyance she’s managed to incite from Morgan.

“I do _not_ look like a hi –”

“Can we focus,” Hotch interrupts. Prentiss straightens, Garcia works herself down from the fit of laughter and nods in JJ’s direction as the go-ahead. Gideon only looks mildly perturbed with the situation. “Okay, thank you,” Hotch says. “A profile’s already been put together for you, Morgan,” a manila folder is placed in front of him with a soft pat from JJ.

“How long is this going to be?” He asks, opening the file and biting back a sigh as he takes in the blandest of fake identities which he’ll no doubt be required to memorise.

“We don’t have a great indicator, hopefully no more than a year.” Morgan balks, scowling hotly in Hotch’s direction. He opens his mouth to complain, to back-out despite not having a choice.

“Considering the CIA has been tracking one of the head organisers of this group for the past four years, I would expect this is the last stretch of the investigation,” Gideon pipes up.

“Wait, this is CIA?” Emily asks incredulously.

“Cade Ellots has operated out of the US, moving states every few months which puts him in _our_ jurisdiction,” JJ points out. The TV has a picture of an easily overlooked man who seems to be around his thirties. He doesn’t stand out, at least not in the way Morgan would expect from a trafficking organiser. She indicates to the screen behind her before continuing. “But the other half, Miles Huntly, has always lived outside of the US.”

The slide behind her changes and a blurry security camera shot shows a heavy built man who fits the stereotype of operational drug trafficker. JJ continues to speak, “there are several undercover CIA agents operating outside of the country, which is why we were even able to get the information on where the two are meeting.”

“So, why are we getting involved if the CIA seems to have this covered then?” Morgan finds himself slumped against the back of his chair. He isn’t exactly frothing at the mouth to work as a barista for the foreseeable future on the off chance that the CIA chooses to arrest the men there.

“Huntly is crossing into Quantico to meet with Ellots, and the fact that we’re here combined with the opportunity of having both men in a confined meeting space, you can probably figure it out for yourself.” Hotch gives Morgan a look, and he drops the extra petulance he’s been carrying for the time being.

“Every Sunday,” Gideon assures. “Once a week for up to a year, that’s all we’re being asked for.” Morgan shifts in his seat, rolling Gideon’s point around in his head.

“As well as the surveillance equipment, our own time and no doubt the reinforcements for when we actually apprehend them,” Hotch grumbles. He mimics Morgan’s frustration and rubs at the back of his neck, “the finance sheets will need going over,” he murmurs. Gideon mirrors his apparent stress, and with that, the briefing seems to be pulling to a close.

“Maybe you can learn to make a proper flat white,” Emily jabs with a rather tasteful laugh as she files out of the room. Morgan rolls his eyes, letting Penelope drag him into her office to create a social media presence for his new identity.

\----

He wasn’t expecting much, but once finished he wasn’t entirely mad at the outcome.

“So, I didn’t even blatantly lie or anything, I’ve just… enhanced a few choice qualities of yours,” Penelope shrugs as he scrolls through the pages and accounts she’s set up for him.

“It looks like you’ve just taken literally every photo that exists of me wearing any kind of hat –”

“Skinny jeans, those delicious combat boots of yours, a couple pics of your tattoo’s and a whole lot of coffee,” she says.

“You’re settin’ me up for failure here, Baby Girl. I don’t even know what an americano is.” Garcia fixes him with a stern expression and he sighs. “Fine, okay. Yeah, I do.” He grins, squeezing her shoulder once and straightening back up from where he had been leaning against the desk. “You’ve outdone yourself, honestly. These look legitimate,” he gestures to the panel of screens in front of them both.

“Remind me to convince you to let me be your real-life social media representative for a week and you can see how many cuties you have up in those messages.” She shoots him a wink as he exits her lair.

\----

Aside from the ever-present self-humiliation of working as a barista when he should be spending his time at the bureau, Morgan finds himself not hating the situation as much as he expected himself too. His degrees and qualifications had taken serious effort, and he hadn’t put up with the Chicago PD for nothing, but the undercover work wasn’t as excruciating as it could have been.

It’s his first ‘shift,’ and being able to hear his team bickering familiarly in the surveillance van parked out back is oddly comforting. Boredom relieving, thankfully, but reassuring nonetheless.

There’s the expected onslaught of what he assumes to be regular customers, a group or two of women finishing yoga, elderly couples stopping in for a slice, and so on. Overall, everyone seems nice enough. He was told there would be CIA agents in the same position as him – stuck undercover for the foreseeable future – and it’s entertaining enough trying to guess who in the shop might be one of them. 

Garcia and Prentiss are walking him through some of the more complicated brews by ear, and it’s simple enough that Morgan is confident he’s blending in.

Around midday, a few people begin drifting into the café where they setup laptops and isolate themselves, happy enough to work under the steady hum of espresso machines and polite chatter. He knows at least one or two of them _must_ be undercover, but nobody is standing out like a sore thumb.

A throat clears politely in front of him.

“Uh, hey. Sorry ‘bout that,” he says instinctively. He wipes one hand on a dish cloth and steps out from behind the coffee maker with what JJ calls ‘a customer service grin.’ Of course, she’d regaled him with stories of when she had a summer job at a café. To be fair, he’d gotten bored and the conversation was a welcome distraction.

A man – boy, more like – stands on the other side of the counter. His glasses reflect the light of the café’s display case as he smiles hesitantly, obviously unsure whether to order or give Morgan another moment.

“What can I get you?” He prompts, quickly. The kid blinks up at the menu for a half second before ordering. His voice is undeniably one of a teenagers, Morgan wouldn’t be surprised if he was fresh into college.

The boy orders a double shot americano with startlingly good manners. Definitely a college student then, Morgan decides. The glasses, sweater vest and messenger bag contribute to the presumption.

_“Oh, the infamous americano… can you handle that, Chocolate Mocha?”_ Penelope says mirthfully into his earpiece. She’s been having a field day with coffee influenced pet names, and he’s having to work hard not to snort in amusement as he gets to work on the drink.

He can vaguely make out Hotch’s sigh over the screeching of the coffee grinder. He finds it entertaining enough to picture his teammates squished into a surveillance van in the parking lot, watching his every move. 

Through the stacks of cups sitting on the machine, he watches the kid survey the area, looking for a seat where he will no doubt set up to study.

Surprisingly enough, for someone who seems to have only recently developed their coltish limbs, the guy seems to be the same height as Morgan himself, if not slightly taller thanks to the hair curling across his head in waves. The only difference being his lack of mass or muscle. In fact, the kid looks like he lives off coffee alone.

_“Don’t you touch that milk, Morgan.”_ Emily hisses through the comm line. _“Keep your head in the game, this is an americano we’re talking about here.”_ He rolls his eyes, popping the lid over the paper cup and making sure the security camera behind the counter catches his snarky expression.

He calls out the order and is met with a smile too bright to belong in a café this dull, gifted by someone too young to understand the importance of what the team is doing here. He leans against the counter, not having to force his polite grin as the kid returns it.

“Thank you,” the boy says, moving aside for the next customer. Derek isn’t entirely sure why, but he keeps the kid in his peripheral, watching and silently taking note of how many sugar packets he goes through.

_God_ he really must be a college student with the amount of sugar he’s pouring into the cup.

Morgan’s counted five packets by the time Gideon and Hotch are both giving him a heads up on their target’s entrance. The kid’s presence is quickly shuffled to the back of his head as he straightens out, blinking towards the door of the shop and waiting patiently.

It’s Huntly who walks in. His stature is bulkier than whenever the photo JJ presented at their briefing was taken, and just taller than Derek, likely matching Hotch’s height. His eyes are beady and even without knowing the man, Morgan is sure he would’ve picked up the _don’t fuck with me_ vibes this guy was laying down.

Without ordering, he crosses the room and seats himself at a table in the back corner. The security camera setup doesn’t have any uncovered points in the entire shop, but the back is poorly lit, and didn’t have any room for sufficient audio bugs within their budget. In fact, the closest thing to their unsub currently is the oblivious college kid who went to town on the sugar packets.

Morgan wants to wipe a hand over his face. They currently have no audio back there, and a perfectly innocent kid who’s managed to line himself up for the position of _human shield_ if anything were to fall awry. 

Great. Just great. First day on the job couldn’t be going any better.

_“You’ve got Ellots on his way in,”_ Hotch warns after several careful minutes of inspection from behind the coffee machine. From the tone of his voice, Morgan is aware his team must be snap judgement profiling their men right about now.

Huntly’s hunched in at the back corner, looking defensive but menacing enough. He’s already dragged his eyes up and down the kid, observing how much of a threat – or asset – he might play, which sets Morgan’s teeth on edge. The guy is clearly disgruntled, unhappy to be so exposed after how long he spent operating deliberately not from the US.

His beady eyes flicker when Ellots takes the seat across from him, both of the men pushing their chests out like cautious animals.

Morgan busies himself wiping down the counter, staying inconspicuous while watching out for signs of trouble as well as any other potential agents. He can’t hear anything from where he is, and he makes a mental note to start hand delivering orders to tables next shift to remedy that.

They stay for four minutes, order nothing and make no eye contact as they leave, one after the other. The two had only spoken for three of those minutes, and he suspects the following encounters will be incredibly similar.

On a positive note, by the time his ‘shift’ is over, the college kid is still sat, unharmed and unaware, over a textbook. Why Morgan sees it as a positive note, he has no clue.

\----

When the team regroups, Morgan can’t help but express his distaste over the lack of control he – and everyone else – has protecting bystanders.

He doesn’t think he could cope if the whole plot goes sideways and he ends up with a dead college student or a traumatised elderly couple.

“Look, we’ve spoken to the director of the operation and I promise you we’ll be far better equipped knowing how Ellots and Huntly are playing this,” Hotch promises. “I know we were… underprepared,” Morgan scoffs underhandedly. Anything could have happened today; they didn’t even know what _had_ happened today thanks to the lack of audio equipment. “But in the coming shifts we’re going to have a lot more to work with.”

Morgan sighs, rubbing his temples frustratedly. He has seen too many deals fall awry in his time on the job, and looked into enough empty, glazed eyes of victims too young and too innocent to be wrapped up in the world the unsubs they hunt live in.

“And what about when the CIA finally decide to make their move?” He asks. “How exactly are we going to protect civilians that decide they want a coffee that day?” He’s hard pressed and accusatory, barely finding the energy within him to care.

“It might surprise you, but we’ve got plenty of agents prepped and ready,” Gideon points out. Morgan wants to laugh at him, because he saw approximately two businessmen who looked even remotely capable of being an undercover agent today. “This thing isn’t going sideways,” Gideon confides. “Not if I have anything to say about it, at least.” There is a flicker of genuine investment in the man’s eyes, but Morgan cannot find any part of himself that believes his bosses involvement will minimise the risk of a bystander being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Well we aren’t exactly going to have much of a choice, are we?” Prentiss cuts in. “If something goes wrong, I mean.”

“She’s right,” Morgan adds, watching Gideon’s lips tighten in dislike. “Do you know how often partners turn on each other as soon as they catch wind of any type of surveillance.” He had picked up on Huntly’s tension in the shop, seen the way his eyes lagged on his communication equipment as if he saw past the flimsy barricade of mediocre barista apparatus. There had been cynicism in him, and not just in the way he watched everyone around him, but the way he sat. Taught, untrusting even alongside his supposed ‘partner.’

If anything went wrong, Morgan knew he’d find himself responsible for everyone in that shop who was unarmed, unprepared and evidently _innocent._

\----

It’s Morgan’s sixth shift and so far, he has managed to narrow customers down into three groups. 

One, the standard but varying stream of people he has served once or twice. They aren’t unwavering regulars, but they seem to know enough about the menu for him to assume they would happily take any café in town that served coffee. 

Second, the regulars who don’t fit the profile of an undercover agent but are the same people he sees at least once every shift. There are a few overweight businessmen who obviously schedule meetings on the tables outside, the several post-gym customers and of course, the college kid – who he may or may not have aptly named _Pretty Boy_ in his own head. 

And finally, the regulars who check, what he imagines to be, the possible undercover CIA operative box.

Luckily enough, after his first shift, Gideon scheduled a meeting with the head coordinator of the investigation and managed to weasel an apt chunk of the CIA’s budget to cover additional audio equipment.

While the backup audio managed to catch almost everything their unsubs spoke about in their brief exchanges, it also gave them an ability to judge whether they needed to prepare to step in. Morgan appreciates the security almost more than he does anything else, especially with the kid defiantly curling himself up into the back corner barely two feet across from the men.

It’s not like he’s aware, either. If the kid paused from bustling through textbooks and writing pads to look up every now and then, maybe Morgan wouldn’t be so on-edge. But of course, Pretty Boy probably wouldn’t notice something was up with the men until he had a gun at the back of his head.

Considering this is his sixth shift, making this his second month of undercover work, they haven’t gotten nearly enough evidence from Ellots or Huntly. The audio recordings they have are vague enough for a skilled lawyer to twist into something non-incriminating, and its driving the operation director up the wall.

The lack of substantial evidence must be killing the higher-ups, because when Morgan enters for his seventh shift, there’s a sign placed in front of the counter.

‘ _All sit-down and dine-in customers are required to place a food or beverage order._ ’

He sucked a breath inwards through his teeth, glancing towards the surveillance camera as if meeting the team’s eyes. Through the comm line, he can hear Hotch muttering something about ‘risky decisions’ that hadn’t been run past him. Morgan decides that not telling his unit chief the CIA director had asked him to start requesting names for orders from now on was a good choice.

_“He’s on a war path,”_ Emily says after Morgan hears the tinny clang of the van door shutting over the line.

“I can imagine,” he responds quietly into his mic as he pulls up the front door shutters. Hotch chewing out a CIA operative is certainly something he hates to miss out on viewing.

There are a few regulars that trickle in, and he greets them quite happily with the only change being his request for names with each order.

By the time midday rolls around, there are four people settled in around the shop – two businessmen in the midst of a meeting and one middle aged couple sharing a slice. He has sharpened up his barista skills and recall time, meaning Penelope and Emily no longer have to remind him of the difference between a mocha and a cappuccino.

When Pretty Boy – just _kid_ , he tries to remind himself – arrives, it’s particularly quiet and he has a spare moment to pause his ceaseless washing of the milk steamer to observe him as he criss-crosses through the empty tables towards the counter.

Unlike his first assumption, Morgan now guesses the kid must be in his second or third year of college. The textbooks he carries aren’t light enough for first-year drivel work, and there’s too much intelligence shining in his wide eyes for him to be anything less than nineteen, twenty at the most.

“Hi,” the kid greets with a pleasant smile. They aren’t close in the way his words suggest, but there is a comfortable familiarity present in their interactions which happen every Sunday like clockwork.

“Hey,” Morgan answers, returning the grin. “Americano?” He asks, his grin shifting closer towards a smirk. The boy nods, looking down at the floor beneath the counter and readjusting the strap of his side bag. “Extra _extra_ sugar, right?”

“I uh – yeah. Yes please.” There is a flush against his cheeks now, and Morgan tries not to take notice of Penelope’s cooing over the comm line.

“And can I get a name for that order?” Morgan leans one elbow against the counter, pen poised at the ready over the boy’s cup. When he does this, the height difference is slightly aggravated, but he can’t say he’s disgruntled about it. Of all the women he’s dated, none of them have come close to his height, not even in heels. And for the men – one in college that lasted less than a week, he’d called it experimenting despite the fact that he wasn’t entirely sure it was – the verdict was the same.

The kid opens his mouth before pausing to narrow one eye in question. “Manager’s orders,” Morgan shrugs, summoning his loose-lipped smile back onto his face. The boy unwinds slightly, pushing his glasses further up his nose before answering.

“Matt,” the kid says with only a brief hesitation.

_“Ooh, cute,”_ Garcia mutters. Gideon snorts amusedly from somewhere inside the van, which surprises Morgan. He forces himself to remember that in order for the team to hear him, anyone around him in the shop would too. He’d have to agree with Penelope at a later time. 

Instead, he nods, keeping his grin in place and standing upright from the counter to begin the order. _“Tell me you’re not drooling right now, Sugar,”_ Penelope tantalizes.

Morgan waits a moment, turning on the machine and letting the steady buzzing muffle his response.

“I didn’t think drooling into coffee would be the appropriate response, but _damn_ if you ain’t right, Princess.” He sneaks a look at the boy – Matt, he’d have to get used to that from now on – from behind the stacks of coffee cups propped on top of the machine.

His shoulder bag is swinging quietly at his side as he leans idly against the bar top. One of the many books Derek has come to know the kid carries is clutched in his hands, tucked between his sternum and pressed against his elbows as he reads. They are always either a second-hand, well-loved but obscure paperback novel, or a hefty hardcover with a cracked spine. Most of the time they seem to be course books.

He’s been trying to guess what the kid could be studying, and with the titles of all the things he’s been studying, Derek assumes something to do with the brain. Either an aspiring neurosurgeon or a psychologist. But when he rakes his eyes quickly over the outfit, he figures the kid would suit any kind of academic-related job, especially with those slacks. Then again, he could be a brain surgeon, considering how spindly and gentle his fingers are when he takes the offered cup from Morgan’s hands.

Without fail, the kid thanks him, grabs several packets of sugar and slips back into his regular table, looking pleased with the warmth radiating from the cup.

Morgan laughs quietly at the image, knowing how much sweetener he put in the brew anyway.

There are only two customers he ends up serving in between the boy and their target, who enters precisely as predicted.

Huntly pauses a moment, his eyes darting over the sign before crossing the counter and locking on Morgan’s.

He can hear Hotch in the background muttering things about this stunt ruining the investigation or scaring their targets off to another meeting point.

The man turns his body to face Morgan, his frown stiff and unyielding. There is nobody else in the line and Morgan cannot express how grateful he is that the Pretty Boy hadn’t shown up even a minute later than he did.

When the target reaches the front counter, he only glances to the board behind Morgan’s head before ordering.

“Two coffees.” His voice is gruff and the tone he uses makes it apparent he is unhappy with the new arrangement for seated guests.

“Could I grab a name for the order?”

The man glares, his eyes giving a harsh scour up and down Morgan’s frame, clearly judging how much of a mistake trusting him would be.

“Hunter,” the man grates with his lip curled upwards in distaste.

Miles Hunt _ly_ , Hunt _er_? Morgan wants to scoff at the man and his lack of creativity. Instead he gives a stiff-pressed smile and turns away from him to make the order.

_“He just said coffee,”_ Garcia points out. _“What are you supposed to make him if he just said ‘coffee,’ huh?”_

“Flat white or something,” Morgan grunts.

“What’s that?”

He snaps his head up from behind the machine.

“Uh, just a couple flat whites okay?” He asks over the sound of Hotch rubbing his teeth together through the comm.

“Oh. Yeah,” Huntly rumbles. Morgan sighs, telling himself a disgruntled barista fits his character perfectly, so he can be petty if he feels like it.

_“What a douchebag, no wonder the CIA’s after him,”_ Emily hisses. Morgan shakes his head in agreeance, making sure the camera could pick up his movement from behind the counter.

_“Do not antagonise the situation, Morgan.”_ Hotch sounds strained himself, stressed to the point of fracture. He was right to, they couldn’t blow this operation without losing hundreds if not thousands of arrests and drug busts. This was essentially the case that determined whether their budget was minimised for the next fiscal year, meaning the higher ups based the unit’s worth on how many illegal organisations they could shut down.

_“Spit in his drink,”_ Emily goads, humour hanging thick in her tone.

_“Do. Not.”_ Hotch growled. Morgan sighs incredulously. He wasn’t going to lie; this undercover work would be a lot less bearable if he didn’t have the team in his ear at every step of the way.

He sticks the lid onto both cups, only briefly daydreaming of doing something disgusting to them before plastering on a smile – a grimace – and turning back to the front counter where Huntly is stood petulantly.

“Two flat whites,” he drones, placing both drinks in front of the man who grabs them without so much as a ‘thanks’ and barges his way to the back at his regular table.

Matt – the kid – who was bent over a textbook and copying things into another notebook, glances up as Huntly passes him. He turns his head back downwards in what Morgan assumes to be trepidation at the sight of such a stocky, furious looking man.

Though, he peers upwards toward the counter after a moment, meeting Derek’s eyes and smiling kindly. Derek, who has propped his head up on one elbow, grins back, lifting two fingers in a slight wave which makes the boy grow redder by one shade and hunch back over his book.

This time both Penelope and Emily coo in his ear.


	2. Brew-tiful Day to Arrest Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Svn-f1ower-cm is my tumblr, go spam me with literally anything.

After three months of each Sunday being swallowed by undercover work, Morgan is on his fourteenth shift. Two weeks ago, the team was caught up in a case five states over, meaning he did _not_ have them in his ear to help pass the time. That shift had gone horribly, the time dragged by at an unimaginably atrocious pace. The only saving grace had been the kid’s regular appearance.

Luckily enough, the indication was made that this would be one of his last ‘shifts.’ Some of the overseas operatives caught wind that Miles Huntly was due back in less than three weeks, meaning Ellots was likely in the final stretch of securing their conjoint deal.

Hotch and Gideon had debriefed him on what little of a plan they could build without solid information.

The idea was to keep things as normal as every other Sunday for this shift, collect the evidence they hoped to find, and next week would be when they were cleared to drop cover and arrest the men.

Sure enough, Garcia had prepped as many surrounding visual and audio devices to record, even going so far as to lodge a tiny camera at the base of Huntly and Ellots table, which would capture no more than their legs and feet unless they decided to slip evidence under the table.

_“Hey Sweetness, your eye candy’s here,”_ Penelope purrs, snapping Morgan from his silent, self-run-down from behind the counter.

For a moment, Derek wrongly assumes she’s talking about the camera that will likely be giving the van of his co-workers an eyeful of their targets’ crotches for most of the day. Instead, when he looks up, the pretty college boy he still hasn’t gotten used to calling Matt is standing at the register with his usual shy smile.

“Hi,” he greets.

“Hey, kid.”

Three months ago, Morgan is certain he would have received a tentative, lopsided smile and an order with nothing more to work with. The kid would have swung gently back and forth on the heels of his feet, sheepishly thanked him for the drink and dropped a fair tip into the jar at the side of the counter before scurrying off to drown his drink in an array of sugar packets.

Now, he rests two hands against the benchtop, smiles broadly and laughs when Morgan prompts, “just the usual, I assume?”

“’Course,” he confirms, seemingly in a better mood than usual. Derek can mirror the uptick in attitude, grateful that this will be one of the last Sundays he spends cooped up in a café for what never surpasses twenty minutes of time in his targets’ vicinity.

He pauses partway through the order as he realises, he might just miss the brief interactions he gets to have with the perpetually overtired college kid. He straightens out, tapping the used coffee grounds into the cylindrical bin to the side. It wasn’t as if the café would cease to exist following the completion of their assignment, he could always take the convoluted route to work and stop by every once in a while.

He has no doubt with the amount of sugar he needs to spoon into the americano, the kid likely has an addiction and doesn’t just study at the café on Sundays.

He pushes the lid onto the cup and slides it across the counter into the kid’s waiting hands.

“How’s the coursework going?” Some light-hearted ~~flirting~~ conversation couldn’t hurt, especially if this was going to be one of his last days on the job.

Matt, – he cannot help but want to continue calling him ‘kid’ – after emptying an extra packet of sugar into his cup and sloshing it about to stir, sighed. He took a drink, placed it against the counter and glanced towards his side bag.

“It’s uh, it’s going… I guess.” The mood takes a considerable dive and Morgan wants to kick himself for it.

“Overloaded, huh?” He asks, feeling ridiculous.

“Not so much overloaded,” the kid murmurs, hugging one hand around the edges of his cup and gesturing wildly with the other. “I mean, the amount of work is slightly ridiculous, but it’s not complicated. Everything we’ve been discussing in class is rather trivial consideri –”

_“Morgan.”_ Gideon snaps in his ear.

_“Ohh, not supposed to be flirtin’ on the clock,”_ Emily chortles.

Having three people talking to him at once is debilitating for Morgan’s incapacity to split focus, but once he manages to prioritise, things become easier. It’s difficult to not concentrate on the bubbly, animated young adult and instead focus on his boss.

Morgan isn’t stupid, he knows Gideon wants him centred on the case at hand and not the desirable customer he’s taken three months to goad into a proper conversation. 

He really cannot help but indulge himself, the kid’s rather fascinating when he rambles.

“… – nd I guess, I never intend to correct my professor, he’s lovely, but he has such a one-track train of thought on all these matters. If I were anything less than intelligent enough to figure things out on my own, how would I ever do well in an exam if I merely parroted back _his_ opinions?” The kid inhaled, wrapping his free hand back around the drink. “Sorry, I uh, I kinda exposition-monologued on you there.”

Derek only looks on dopily, watching the boy twitch and fidget nervously.

_“I’m sending Garcia in as a customer if you keep this up,”_ Gideon threatens. He sounds oddly distressed with the concept of Derek flirting, which really shouldn’t surprise him at this point.

Morgan grins, both at the kid and Penelope’s laughter in response to Gideon’s warning.

_“Oh you can try. You’ll only have two people putting the moves on white choc mocha over there,”_ she hummed right back.

“No, it’s fine,” Morgan responds, again, both to Gideon and the kid. “It was –” _endearing_ , he wants to say, “intriguing,” he finishes instead. “Your classes sound interesting.”

In his earpiece, Derek can hear Gideon continuing to try and hurry his conversation along. In between bits and pieces of Penelope’s amusement, Hotch sounds about ready to join in.

“Yeah, I enjoy them, as much as I complain,” the boy shrugs. He runs one finger around the rim of his cup, rubbing up and down the seam of his bag strap.

They haven’t held a conversation this long since Derek actively started trying to do more than simply brew his coffee. Typically speaking, he would be a lot further along his ‘track of seduction,’ as Penelope liked to call it, if he hadn’t been impeded by the case at hand.

Or, this is what he tells himself when the kid pushes a nonconformist curl behind his ear and gives an inhibited, “well… I better get back to the books, I guess.” He gestures with one hand towards his usual seat, gracing Morgan with a smile, which is all he really aimed for in the beginning.

“Uh-huh,” he affirms, watching the boy retreat to the back of the space before summoning the courage to pull himself into the background noise of his earpiece.

“You’re dead meat, man.” Emily whispers, as if Gideon weren’t connected to the same audio feed as Derek and could hear every word.

There is a pressing silence which Morgan uses to clean off the spilled coffee grounds before Penelope speaks.

_“If he cracks his teeth from grinding them much harder, you’re probably gonna have to pay the dentistry bill, Sugar.”_ Morgan sighs, he was in _deep shit_ for this one. But he tells himself it was worth it when he cranes his head to check on the kid who is still happily nursing away at his coffee.

_“You know, Jason, this’ll just minimise suspicion from Huntly and Ellots point of view.”_ Morgan thanks his lucky stars for Hotch’s ability to keep the team’s head on straight during an argument, as mild as this one was.

_“Yeah, it’ll really help his cover seeing as he isn’t_ actually _bothering to focus on either of the targets, but it sure as hell won’t help this operation,”_ Gideon snaps.

Morgan rolls his eyes and shuffles back to the front bench to greet the next round of customers. He takes care to engage in light small talk to prove both Hotch and Gideon’s points. He’s focused enough to notice when Ellots finally saunters inside and joins the small queue but dedicated to continuing pleasantries with each person he serves to keep the suspicion away from himself.

The man orders as gruffly as he did last time, the only difference being his request for an empty cup. The question isn’t uncommon, Derek has found multiple customers prefer using an extra cup to slip over the bottom of the first to minimise heat against hand.

He watches the target return to his usual table, hyperaware of the fact that the kid doesn’t look up from his pile of textbooks to make eye contact.

_“I’ve got something,”_ Garcia whispers excitedly into the comm line. Morgan forces himself to turn his back on both tables as to not draw attention to the fact that they had ‘something’ according to Garcia.

_“How much is that?”_ Prentiss asks. Morgan scratches his nose and wiggles two fingers beneath the counter to hopefully capture the camera’s attention. He wants to know what seems to be happening.

_“Ellots is slipping about… two – maybe three thousand in cash into his spare cup under the table.”_ If Morgan didn’t know any better, he would say Hotch’s voice almost had an air of thrill to it. To be fair, they had been wasting every Sunday for the past three months. So, hard evidence was worth the rush of exhilaration everyone appeared to share.

Morgan turns on the milk steamer, allowing the screeching sound to cover his remark.

“The camera under the table was a brilliant idea, Hot Stuff,” he compliments, hopefully at the perfect volume.

_“Aw, Adonis you make me swoon,”_ Penelope answers gleefully. _“Now all we’ve got to do is catch the cash transfer and some audio to go with it and we’re home free!”_ Morgan grins, fiddling with the stands of coffee stirrers, sugar packets and napkins.

_“I can’t say I’m not looking forward to escaping this stinking van,”_ Emily huffs. Derek can hear the clanging of someone rapping their knuckles against the side of the surveillance vehicle. _“At this point I’d rather be in there with Morgan.”_

Derek shakes his head in amusement, imagining how chaotic it would be to have both him and Prentiss in charge of an entire café as well as the undercover discretion.

Another customer steps up to order and he happily obliges, using the distraction of making a drink to carefully observe their second target ambling in to slide down across from Ellots.

Prentiss and Garcia are both incredibly verbal, rattling off exactly what’s happening to keep him in the loop which mercifully lessens the risk of Derek feeling compelled to try and observe for himself. Hotch and Gideon stay predominantly silent, only cutting in to hush one of the women in order to hear the exchange tucked into the back of the café.

After almost eight minutes – which breaks the pattern both men had stuck to – someone in the van claps their hands in supposition. Morgan can hear Hotch sighing happily over the scooting of Huntly’s chair as he exits the café.

Ellots follows a minute later, not bothering to part with a final ‘thanks’ for his beverage. Derek doesn’t mind, from the sounds of things they have all the evidence they need, meaning next shift will be his last.

He can hear the sounds of everyone in the van beginning to pack up and gives a final wipe down of the counter before changeover hour.

When he stops to think about it, while the early starts are hell for him and the period of waiting for their two targets to arrive and get the meeting over with, he hasn’t worked longer than a six-hour shift. He’s always out of the café by noon, at least. Not to mention the added company of the college kid to treat him with some pleasant eye candy for the shift. 

So, really, the job hadn’t been all that bad when he truly considers it.

Which means – in Derek’s mind at least – the small feeling of unsatisfaction that twirls around in the pit of his gut when he thinks about not being here each Sunday, isn’t all that irrational.

\----

“Keep the jacket on,” Hotch orders, adjusting Morgan’s sleeves for what felt like the hundredth time.

“You’re lucky it’s raining today,” Gideon points out. Morgan makes a noncommittal hum in response, instead finding himself gazing towards the café’s back entrance.

Gideon was right, they were lucky the skies were overcast and perpetually drizzling. Without the poor weather, the choice for him to wear a somewhat bulky windbreaker to cover his bulletproof vest would have stood out much more.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t at least tell me who’s my only backup in there,” he complains. Gideon sighs, shaking his head and rubbing the back of his neck before motioning for Hotch to go ahead an answer the question.

“In hostage situations, you know why SWAT doesn’t tell the negotiator when they’re going in?” Hotch asks.

_Because the slightest change in tone of voice, or choice of words, can give the whole thing away._ Morgan knows this, and he nods his assent.

“Same principal,” the man says evenly.

Derek exhales to resist the urge he has to roll his eyes. It’s almost degrading, neither of them believe he’ll be able to act the same as every other Sunday on the job once he’s aware of who else is undercover.

“Now, you know we have all the evidence we need,” Gideon emphasises. Morgan pounds a fist against his chest, testing the fit of his vest as he listens.

“You’re leading here,” Hotch reminds him. “So, when you make the call to apprehend them is when backup will take action, alright?”

“That includes external _and_ internal backup?”

“Yes, there is more than enough internal support to tide you over until we come in,” Gideon presses. Morgan nods in understanding, still half-cynical of how much assistance he would have from inside the café until the rest of the team arrived.

“Your gun is under the counter; you’ll be flanked from the front and back entrances about a minute after you make the first move.” Hotch claps him on the shoulder, looking stern but confident. “Good luck,” he says evenly.

Both himself, Gideon and Prentiss are gearing up in the spare rental space next door. Rumour has it, the agents the CIA managed to spare will be entering through the front door, while his team have the back. Garcia has full control over the comm line and all the security equipment in their regular surveillance van.

She hisses last minute words of encouragement despite knowing they still have two to three hours before the targets are due to appear.

He goes through the motions of opening up the café, quite happily listening to the chatter Emily and Penelope gladly make with him as they settle in for their own long wait.

_“Nervous, Hot Chocolate?”_ Penelope asks as he preps the dining area and display case.

“Not so much for myself, more so the civilians, you know?”

_“Yeah sure, civilians, plural,”_ Emily teases.

_“Aw! You’re worrying about him, that’s so cute,”_ Penelope squeals into his ear piece. Morgan groans, rubbing a hand over his face in exasperation. _“I can see you pouting on the cameras, don’t think I can’t,”_ the blonde exclaims.

“I’m not playing favourites, Jesus,” he argues pointlessly. He knows both Gideon and Hotch are listening in, and after the stunt he pulled last Sunday, he doesn’t think either of them will be impressed with the commentary. “I just – there’s going to be a lot of bystanders, and we all know that.”

“Trust me, we’re all perfectly capable of defusing the situation if it gets out of hand,” Gideon cuts in.

Morgan checks his watch and flips the ‘closed’ sign onto its ‘open’ side and hooks the door open.

“There’ll likely be a lot less people in today with the weather,” Hotch says, effectively offering a branch of dwindling hope to Morgan.

Three weeks ago, the weather had been somewhat similar. The kid had still come bustling in, adorned with unkempt hair from the rain. But Morgan could hope.

Hotch doesn’t seem to be wrong so far because after two hours, Garcia has only had to announce four customers, two of which stayed in-store for less than fifteen minutes.

_“You got company, Sugar,”_ she proclaims, disappointment on Derek’s behalf in her tone.

Sure enough, the kid ducks through the front entrance with a awkward wave in his direction. He’s wearing a thick purple scarf and heavy-set windbreaker which drips water along the welcome mat when he wanders towards the counter.

“Hey,” Morgan manages, forcing the displeasure from his tone. He was going to shoulder the blame if anything went wrong and got the poor kid hurt.

“Hi – hey,” the boy huffs, pink-nosed from the cold and shivering as a bead of water falls from his mop of hair down the side of his neck.

“I’ll make it a large for you today.” Derek grins, holding up a cup and watching as the scrawny man in front of him wipes rain from his side bag unhappily. The sleeves of his sweater, which poke out from beneath the oversized jacket, are unpleasantly damp looking.

“Thanks,” the kid breathes, already turning to drop his bag off at the usual table.

“You know, there’s a heating vent by the booths out front,” Derek suggests. He can hear Penelope stifling a coo at his concern through the comm.

“Uh…” the kid straightens up, looking across the café and seeming to consider the offer. “I’ll – I think I’ll be alright.” He drops two soggy textbooks on the table and sighs, shrugging his shoulders. “Allergies,” he contends after noticing Morgan’s incredulous stare.

Derek swallows the lump of discontentment in his throat and places the drink on the counter.

“Alright, knock yourself out I guess.”

The kid hums in gratification as he cups his hands around the hot drink and indulges in the warmth it must provide before slipping back into his chair.

“’S quiet today,” the boy points out after a few more minutes of Derek puttering around behind the counter, searching for things to keep him occupied.

There are two other people in the store, a middle-aged woman about to finish a slice in the front corner, and a man who must be about Gideon’s age reclined on the only sofa, deeply invested in what appears to be a crossword.

Morgan shudders to think one of them could be his only internal backup.

“Yeah, probably the weather,” he responds.

_“Ellots just pulled into the front lot,”_ Garcia says quickly.

_“I’d suggest waiting until both of them are seated, Morgan,”_ Hotch advises. Derek nods his head subtly in the direction of the camera, doing everything he can to avoid staring at the door in waiting.

_“Passing the threshold now,”_ Garcia notifies.

The man orders as he has for the past months, looking unyieldingly put-out before seizing the drink and crossing into the back corner where he waits unassumingly for Huntly.

It always strikes Derek how much larger their second man was than the first blurry security shot JJ had showed them. The man’s shoulders were as broad as his own – if not more, and what Huntly lacked in height, the man made up for in muscle. He had to readjust himself as he slouched in the seat across from Ellots, his biceps pressing against the edge of the table.

_“Your call Morgan, let us know before you draw the gun,”_ Hotch persists, his voice low as though the two targets could hear him through Derek’s ear piece.

He pauses to glance at the men from behind the machine, calculating the best route to take. In lieu of the dramatic option, he decides stepping out from behind the counter _before_ brandishing his weapon is the safest course of action.

The window of time before one of the two men stand to leave is dwindling, and as Morgan slips one hand beneath the counter to detach his gun and flick the safety off, he decides sooner rather than later is the smarter decision to make.

_Now or never,_ he figures, brandishing his fingers in the tell-tale motion for the camera to see before pushing into the dining space at the ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger :/ next chapter will hopefully be worth it though <3
> 
> Tumblr is @Svn-f1ower-cm


	3. I'll Give it my Best Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me hating myself for deciding to make every chapter title coffee-pun-themed 
> 
> *cringing intensifies*

_“You’ve got one minute before we’re in there. Cover the front exit until the CIA agents are in,”_ Hotch calls over the comm line. Morgan can hear the sounds of him, Prentiss and Gideon running in the background as Hotch spoke. 

They were only one building over, Derek is fairly certain himself and his inside backup can hold their own until then.

“FBI! I need both your hands in the air.” He can feel the eyes of the kid and the two customers by the front of the shop boring holes through him as he yells. “Miles Huntly and Cade Ellots, you’re under arrest.” As often as he was required to declare as such, Morgan always felt he had pulled the lines from a bad cop show. It was a necessity regardless.

Both men, from their seats squashed into the back corner of the room, stare at him with narrowed eyes. He profiles the emotions flickering across their faces and isn’t surprised when Ellots raises his hands in surrender, looking paler by the minute as he takes in the weapon aimed at his forehead.

Huntly, however, furrows his brows menacingly and shoves himself almost entirely upward from his seat. “Watch it, man,” Morgan warns dangerously, swivelling the gun closer in his direction, faithful in Ellots’ apparent cowardice. 

It takes every ounce of restraint he has to not glance over at the boy across from the two men who’s probably scared out of his mind right now.

Huntly bares his teeth and raises two fingers on either hand, feigning compliance even as he shifts from his booth and straightens himself to full height. “Stand. Down.” Morgan grates, forcing the words out with spite.

“Bite me,” Huntly growls.

Ellots, somehow, has worked out his accomplice faster than the team, and darts out of his chair to sprint for the back exit only milliseconds before Huntly charges for the front. He assumes they must have discussed this at some point, because there’s no way a seamless escape plan could be solely based on instincts like that.

Under any other circumstance, Morgan would have fired at the impending man. He’d taken several tackles during his football days, but typically speaking he was often the strongest player on the field. So, as Huntly runs at him from down the aisle, Morgan finds himself wishing his brain could stay on task. Instead, he finds himself entirely shellshocked at the speed and accuracy with which Matt – the kid – college _pretty boy_ – manages to hook one slender leg across the width of Ellots’ kneecaps and send him flailing towards the floor.

Without hesitation, the boy is out of his seat and straddling their runaway from behind – which is, it’s certainly _something_. The man’s hands are pinned at the small of his back and encased in cuffs within seconds of him hitting the ground. The kid leans in, gripping the trafficker’s wrists for balance as he slides off his back and pulls him to his knees.

Morgan opens his mouth to say something, or to yell through his earpiece at Gideon and Hotch because _those bastards must have known_ , before he’s being barrelled over by someone twice as bulked up as himself.

All the tackles he had taken previously were in the middle of an open field. He would land on turf or grass, not hardwood flooring in the middle of a café filled with tables.

A pained grunt breaks from his lips as he hits the ground, something searing with undeniable force in his lower torso. He curses as a knee jerks up into his gut, hoping Penelope couldn’t hear his language over her own screeching through the comms.

Huntly grapples with him for a moment, a look of pure fury and desperation flaming in his eyes as the two struggle. Morgan doesn’t have the time to tell if the man’s goal is to get up from the floor and out the front door, or to keep him held down out of aggression. Morgan freezes abruptly as an ear-splitting crack echoes throughout the small café. The pain in his side hasn’t stopped, and for a moment he is almost certain he’s been shot.

This was it. Huntly somehow fought for possession of his firearm, which is no longer in his hand, and managed to shoot. After all, the sensation within the base of his chest is growing unbearable, especially with the weight of Huntly pressing down.

The man in question has stilled too, his eyes wide and unseeing from above him. Then, he cries out like a wounded animal. The man’s face scrunches in agony and he rolls his weight so quickly that he falls from Morgan’s frame and hits the wood with an exaggerated thud.

The previously stoic and eternally furious looking man is awkwardly reaching one arm back to scratch at the shoulder of his jacket, writhing and shrieking from the floor.

Morgan’s instincts kick in, momentarily giving him the ability to ignore the blistering discomfort at his side as he hurries to drag his gun out from beneath a bench seat and level it to Huntly’s back. He seriously doubts the man will be making another run for it with the clean shot through the meaty part of his shoulder.

Movement from the corner of his eyes catches his attention and he turns to see the kid lowering his own weapon, which is still smoking from where he must have fired. The boy averts his eyes, turns back to Ellots and begins to parrot his Miranda Rights as the back door is thrown open.

Hotch, Gideon and Prentiss enter to find Morgan on the floor beside a wailing Huntly who’s got one hand pressing at the hole through the back of his shoulder. Across from them is Ellots, who partially blocks the back entrance as he’s guided carefully to his feet by a satisfied looking kid.

\----

“Ow, damnit – easy,” Derek urges. Penelope tuts under her breath and loosens the pressure of the icepack she’s pressing against what the medics insisted were his tenth, nineth and potentially eighth fractured rib.

“You – big idiot – were so busy drooling that you got yourself hurt,” she points out sharply. At this point, she must be so used to members of the team being hurt in the field – especially Derek – that Penelope’s go-to response was a snippy attitude to cover her extreme worry. She didn’t complain when a medic offered an ice pack for her to hold against his ribs though.

Derek is currently sat on the edge of a collapsible stretcher, staring sullenly out the back of the ambulance doors. “Stop sulking,” Penelope orders. She only has to glance up briefly to notice the boy across the street from the scene talking with the only two bystanders who had been at the opposite end of the café when the two of them had needed to draw their guns.

From this far away, even from over Derek’s shoulder, she can make out the concerned crinkle in his brows, and the empathetic look on his face as he animatedly talks with the two.

“And come to think I was actually looking forward to the fieldwork after this case,” Derek complains, wincing as he shifts about on the bed.

“At least it’s only six weeks, at the most,” she encourages. Derek just shakes his head, continuing the kicked puppy look as he stares out at the crime scene. “Sugar,” she treads carefully. “Are you just upset because the one person you were properly worrying about ended up being the one to save your ass?”

“Baby Girl, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that word come out of your mouth.” She laughs, continuing to focus on angling the ice pack against her co-worker’s ribs. 

Penelope may not be a profiler, but she can tell when Derek is avoiding a tender topic area and glazing over it with humour. She fixes him with a look, giving him a quiet moment to sort out his emotions. “I just – the takedown would have been a lot easier if I knew I didn’t have to worry about him.” Her laugh is genuine this time, bubbly and bright in the small, dreary ambulance bed.

“Yeah, sure. You froze up in the middle of the aisle because you were worried about protecting someone who just pulled a freakin’ acrobat-grade tackle?” Derek sighs, turning his face away petulantly. “Oh hon, you can just say he surprised you, is all.”

Derek stays silent, his eyes fixed on Gideon as he ducks beneath the yellow tape and crosses the road to join the kid with the witnesses. Penelope manages to watch his eyes narrow as Gideon lays one gentle hand against the kid’s shoulder and leads him away from the bystanders, leaving them in the hands of the police taking reports that crawl the scene.

“Has he said anything to you?” Derek asks.

“Uh, who – Gideon? No, not about your Pretty Boy.” Derek inhales rigidly, shaking his head.

“We should – _I_ should probably drop the nickname,” he says. Penelope shrugs, adjusting his ice pack with a tender hand. She doesn’t bother pointing out that regardless of the fact that he may work for the CIA, he was still suitably ‘pretty,’ in both their definitions.

Gideon is still walking with the kid, one hand on the back of his neck, thumb and forefinger circling the bumpy protrusions of his spine. The boy is leaning into the touch, still waving his hands about spiritedly. Gideon is leading him towards the two vans parked to the side. One is adorned with the large BAU logo, and the other with the staple CIA lettering. It’s curious to see the two divisions working so close on one case yet barely having any interaction.

“Why’s he so friendly with him?” Derek asks, almost accusatorily. Penelope tilts her head to watch the interaction with interest. She has her theories, but is more focused on why Derek seems so fixated.

Gideon turns the boy, giving him a look only ever reserved for the team on the jet home after a case finishes with the smallest amount of loss possible thanks to their intervention. _So, why for this kid, then?_ Derek wants to ask.

Both him and Penelope sit in wait as they watch the discussion, each of them attempting guesses at the odd familiarity and fondness their Senior Supervisory Agent had for someone they had never met before, apparently employed by the CIA. 

Gideon is smiling fondly – which is rare enough in itself – but the way he uses the loose grip he’s got on the kid’s neck to tug him into a side hug is practically unheard of. Derek doesn’t think he has ever seen Gideon express physical affection towards anyone, excluding the necessary acts of compassion each of them provide whilst saving a victim during a case, of course.

“Woah,” Penelope mutters. Derek shakes his head disbelievingly and looks away again. “Oh my God, do you think Gideon pushed for us to take the case because of the kid?”

“What? No, that’s insane,” he says. “He seemed pretty riled up about the budget adjustments we’re having to make. Why would he want to take a case that’d use up almost twenty-five percent of our annual budget?”

Penelope stretches her lips out and angles one shoulder upwards in obliviousness.

“Who knows,” she finishes, circling her attention back to the bruising at his side. “Maybe we should pick you up some pain meds – oh! You can take them with the cookies I’ll bake.”

Derek sighs warmly, pulling her into his uninjured side.

“Ain’t like I’ll be flying out for new cases anytime soon,” he says bitterly. “You’re gonna be stuck with me in the office for the next month and a half.”

\----

He had thankfully been cleared for office work after a long weekend, but Hotch had insisted he take at least half a week to stop groaning every time he had to bend over.

Penelope, as she had so thoughtfully promised, picked him up the prescribed pain medication and dropped them off at his apartment with a box of baking. “How’s the team?” He asks from the couch, jolting as he swallows two of the pills which begin to dissolve in his throat.

“Everyone’s fine, pretty happy to be done with the undercover work.” She gives him a sideways look, calculating his discomfort.

“I’ll be back in a day,” he concedes.

“Good, because Gideon’s been nagging Hotch about something and we’re all trying to figure out what,” she says quickly. After reading Derek’s interested expression, she continues. “There’s so much tension between them, you could cut it with a blunt butter knife! I mean, they spend at least half an hour locked away in Hotch’s office and none of us know what –”

“Hotch wants to talk to me once I’m back,” he cuts in. “I can try and figure out what’s happening?” Penelope nods eagerly.

Derek almost forgets about it until the morning he walks into the bullpen and finds himself impatiently waiting at his desk for Hotch’s office door to open so he can get the meeting over with.

He knows what his boss is going to say. He’s going to reiterate that Derek will be strictly assigned to paperwork and – if necessary – helping out on cases from Quantico and avoiding flying out anywhere.

It takes fifteen minutes before Gideon exits Hotch’s office. The only saving grace seemed to be that Prentiss was present at her desk to entertain him with tales of their latest case.

He knocks against the doorframe, jerking his head in greeting when Hotch looks up to wave him in. His desk is almost entirely covered in manila folders and his tie is already loosened, which Derek interprets to mean _stress o’clock_. It’s not even eleven in the morning yet. 

“Hey,” he starts, sinking into the chair opposite his boss.

“Morgan, I’m sure you know what I’d like to discuss.” He nods twice, unsurprised, and fundamentally dreading being confined to desk work for the foreseeable future. “I know you’ve been cleared for work, and flights shouldn’t be much of an issue,” he struggles to squander the hope that gurgles up in his chest. “But I’d prefer for you to stick with consulting from the office for now.”

“Alright,” he says stiffly. There isn’t any confusion, both men understand that Derek hates to be held back from the action, but each of them are also aware of how much longer healing will take if he throws himself into the thick of things.

“Good, thank you,” Hotch says appreciatively. The man sighs, pressing one hand against his forehead and looking back down to the piles of paper folders across his desk. “I’m swamped right now, so I sincerely hope we don’t have another case cropping up,” he admits.

Derek angles his head to the side and attempts to observe whatever the unit chief is occupied with.

“Oh? You’re looking through applications?” Hotch pulls a face at him, only half disgruntled in the agent’s blatant snooping.

“It was suggested, and I have to say I agree,” the man says evenly. “Especially when we’re only left with three trained and qualified field agents if someone’s injured,” Hotch points out. It’s a valid argument, seeing as although JJ has her gun certification, her role is media liaison and Garcia’s contributions are almost always made from Quantico.

“Fair enough,” Morgan says, as if his opinion would have any bearing or pull weight in Hotch’s decision. “What’s Gideon think of all this?” Hotch glances upwards, raising one eyebrow.

“He’s the one who pushed for the idea after Strauss pressed back,” he explains slowly. “Why?”

“I uh – it just,” _came out of nowhere, makes hardly any sense and implies the team need another member to function effectively, which is far from the truth._ “It feels quite sudden, is all,” Morgan chooses to stick with.

“Is this going to be a problem for you then, Morgan?” Hotch’s tone is less critical, closer to an investigative rhetoric that he will make the decision to answer regardless.

“Not in the slightest,” he says honestly. Hotch runs his fingers over several of the folders before selecting one and turning it clockwise until it faces him. “I’ll be happy with what or whoev –”

He is met with a printed and pre-laminated identification photo sitting heavily atop a stack of credentials and degrees in an array of areas.

Derek remembers being told not to smile for his own ID picture, and somehow the kid in the photo has bypassed that rule. His face is set naturally, but his eyes are gleaming and its clear he’s not unhappy.

The hair is much shorter than Derek had seen, only a few lone curls poke out from beneath his ears. It’s pushed back from, not a single strand falling over his forehead as usual. His face is angular and much gaunter, which doesn’t help the impression of a young age the kid gives. He’s staring directly into the camera and, like every ID picture he’s seen, it gives Derek the distinct impression of a ransom photograph.

Strangely enough, when he runs his eyes over the page – skipping past the various skills and specialisations, listing things Derek has never even heard of – and reaches the applicant’s name, it doesn’t match the one hanging in his mind.

For a moment he’s confused and stays silent, thinking he made a snap judgement from the photograph.

Then, after an embarrassing amount of time, he realises what wasn’t clicking beforehand.

Of course, the kid’s real name wasn’t ‘Matt,’ he was assumedly as deep undercover as Derek had been. So, reading the name _Doctor Spencer Reid_ shouldn’t have surprised him in the least.

_Spencer_ – Derek thinks, oddly enough – fits the boy. He struggles to put logic to the thought, and the best explanation he can rifle up for himself is that _Spencer_ presents more of the boyish charm Derek has seen, than _Matt_ did.

“Morgan?” Hotch asks carefully, watching him with a keen eye.

“Uh, no. No issues with anything,” he stammers, only managing to steer his voice back on the course of steadiness about halfway through his sentence. Hotch regards him meticulously. “I mean, a _Doctor_ , huh… How old is this kid?”

“He’s been with the CIA for two years, he’s twenty-four.”

“So, my twenty-seventh is in what – three months? And this kid already has a doctorate?”

“Three of them,” Hotch corrects. Morgan can’t help but think he’s biting back a smirk as he taps one of the pages on the kid’s application in proof.

“Christ,” he murmurs, pulling the papers forward and studying them closer. “Is that even possible? I mean, three PhD’s, two BA’s and another in progress?”

“Well,” Hotch starts, pulling the folder back to himself and closing it to Morgan’s dismay. “According to Gideon, if he really has been at college since he was twelve, anything’s possible.”

“You’re kidding,” he deadpans. “What? Are you trying to say Gideon’s been grooming this kid for the team since he was _twel_ –”

“If you’re implying –”

“No – jeez, I trust the application process,” he relents, holding a hand in the air for surrender. He would never say to his boss’ face that Gideon seemed to have a supportive affinity for the kid. But he wouldn’t be stunned to find out that the only reason they took the undercover work and are now looking for new applicants for the team was because of such relationship.

Hotch sighs, levelling a serious expression pointedly at Morgan’s demeanour and glancing behind him to the blinds, as if ensuring Gideon wasn’t hovering outside.

“Look, you know Gideon’s fallen out of contact with Stephen.” Morgan nods, treading lightly upon the release of information on Jason’s personal life and in particular, his son. “You can’t blame him for seeing something in this –” Hotch lifts the corner page as if to double check the two of them were getting his title correct, “ _Doctor_ Reid, alright?”

“Yeah,” Morgan complies. “I get that, Hotch.” There wasn’t point in pressing the issue, especially when he found himself perking up at an idea forming. “You think he’s a good fit for the team?”

Hotch rolls his eyes and gestures to the endless piles of applicants. Morgan is vividly aware of Hotch’s inability to admit who he will be choosing, but the answer is clear enough.

Now, all he has to do is convince Penelope to let him ‘help’ with the extensive background checks they run for all the applicants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is @Svn-f1ower-cm 
> 
> my heart goes <3<3<3 when anyone sends asks


	4. I Can't Espresso My Excitement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a friend beta read for the first time :') it's so beautiful not having to re-read my stuff and cringe at all the punctuation mistakes! : )  
> Dani, sweetie, I love you with my whole heart <3  
> Here is her Ao3: [Starsandsupernovae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsupernovae)  
> And her gorgeous tumblr: [@reid-and-writing](https://reid-and-writing.tumblr.com/)

“So,” Penelope grins. She’s swung herself and her large office chair to face the doorway to her office where Derek stands now.

“So,” he says casually. He wanders into her room, swinging his ankles idly and plops himself down into her squeaky spare chair. “Looks like I’m going to be hanging around the office ‘for the time being,’” he quotes.

Penelope rolls her eyes and shakes her wrist in his direction with a fondly exasperated look on her face.

“Well duh. We already knew that, there was no way Hotch was going to let you fly around with those ribs.” She looks at him expectantly, brows lowering when he twiddles his thumbs as if he had no clue what she was waiting for. “Derek! Come on! What’s the hot goss – why’s Gideon been grilling Hotch? What are th –”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, watching her incredulous excitement. He leans forward in the chair conspiratorially, wincing as it screeches in disapproval. “Gideon’s been pushing for a new recruit, even after Strauss said the team is operating fine on its own right now.”

_“And?”_

“And… I got the impression that Hotch was willing to back him up, so, looks like we’re going to be getting a new recruit.”

“Oh lord,” she sighs, swinging back around in her chair to face the array of computer screens. “We do _not_ need any more alpha males around here.”

Derek huffs, scooting his chair forward until his shins bump against the armrest of Penelope’s chair.

“That’s just it though! He’s _not_.” Her chair swivels again and Derek pushes himself backwards to make room, smiling lopsidedly when he sees her expression.

“You’ve caught my attention, Chocolate Thunder. What’s the story, is he old? Cute? Overqualified? Underqualified? I need some fresh meat.” Derek feigns offense, touching his chest gently as he listens to Garcia’s ramblings.

“You wound me, woman.”

“Oh, you can take it,” she says slyly. “Now, tell me ‘bout him.” Her eyes gleam with interest, and Derek beams at the power he currently holds.

“What do _I_ get out of it?”

Penelope leans back in her chair and narrows her eyes, considering him closely. She might not be a trained profiler like the rest of them, but call him a liar if her piercing gaze didn’t feel all knowing.

“Oh – ho – ho, you _dog_!” She cries after a long, stressful minute of silence for Derek. “You totally want me to wing-woman!”

“How did you even –”

“So, I’m right? You _do_ want me to!”

Derek sighs, rubbing the back of his neck and wondering how in the hell Penelope always manages to see through him this easily. “Tell me everything, what’re they like? Your typical type?”

“I do not have a type,” he argues deftly.

“Uh, nice try,” she scoffs. “Shorter than you?”

“No, actually,” he says with an air of confidence that he knew would soon be broken. He probably did have a type that Penelope had picked up on. They went out for lunch enough for her to have a decent sized list of both men and women he’d pointed out as somewhat desirable offhandedly.

“Skinnier, though,” she guesses. She nods happily when the look on his face gives the answer away. “You’re rather transparent for a profiler, you know,” she mocks.

“Wasn’t really trying to hide it, was I?” He shoots right back. Penelope rolls her eyes, adjusting a small ornament at the side of her desk.

“Anyway,” Derek continues, knowing he’s successfully piqued her interest enough to circle back to the point of this conversation. “I doubt Hotch wants this leaked around just yet, but –”

“Derek Morgan you know not to tease me like that!”

“But,” he presses, “I think Gideon is pushing hard for the kid from our undercover work.”

Penelope blinks, her eyelashes fluttering past tasteful blue eyeshadow. She opens her mouth several times to speak before finally getting her words out.

“The… oh… the one you were putting the moves on?” He nods in confirmation, trying to read her face. “Honey, you better hope Gideon doesn’t hold that against you when he’s hired.”

“ _If_ he’s hired, right?” Derek could tell himself he isn’t looking forward to the idea of someone new shifting the team’s current dynamic, but the truth is, he doesn’t need his near constant tendency to playfully seduce people getting in the way of anyone’s job. Nor does he want the flirting he’s already done to make the poor kid uncomfortable.

“Well Hotch wants to meet with me, and I have no doubt he’ll be handing off the selection of final candidates for background checks… so,” she lifts one shoulder, dangling one finger out to touch the end of a fluffy pen as she speaks. “Probably _when_ he’s hired, especially if Gideon’s pushing for it.”

“Great,” he hums.

“Don’t be a baby, nobody cares that you have the hots for hi –”

“I don’t have the ‘hots’ for him. I just… casually hit on him a couple times when I got bored with making coffees all day.” Penelope raises one perfectly arched brow and pins him with an accusatory look. Clearly, his continual worry – over who he believed to be an innocent bystander – had said otherwise. “Plus, it wasn’t like Gideon sounded very happy over the comm line,” he mutters.

“Ouch, yeah. That one’s gonna sting, Honeysuckle,” she admits. “I’m sure he’s just protective, it’ll be fine.”

Derek presses his lips into a hard line and looks to the ceiling. 

“I’ll call you if he’s not in the stack of candidates whose lives I have to dig through.” He groans. His chest was stiff and the lowly ache in his ribs was putting his tolerance dangerously low on the totem pole of sanity. Penelope pats his knee encouragingly and nods towards her office door.

“Get some paperwork done and I’ll keep you posted, okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. Pushing himself up from the squeaking chair only made his frown that much deeper. Penelope gives him a sympathetic look as he crosses the room and manages a lazy wave as he ambles back to his desk.

“You alright?” Emily asks concernedly as he sinks down in front of his desk unhappily. 

“Confined to Quantico if you get a case,” he explains. Putting his agitation on being stuck doing deskwork for the foreseeable future was a safer bet than explaining why he was so uneasy with the concept of the kid being sat across from him all day, in the field with him on the regular, his _co-worker_ for crying out loud.

“Let’s hope there’s no case then,” Emily replies. There’s a hint of empathy in her eyes, and Derek struggles to remember the days in which he thought Hotch and himself were the only ones capable of taking a hit from an unsub. Prentiss had shown him otherwise, and evidently enough, so had the gangly ‘college’ kid with the sharp cheekbones and soft smile.

\----

Derek has managed to work through fourteen case files by the time two in the afternoon hits. His fingers are complaining almost as much as his ribs are. Emily pops her head up above the plastic divider between their adjacent desks anytime he makes an audible noise of discomfort.

“Didn’t Penelope pick up your painkillers for you?”

“Yep.” He kicks the handle back on his chair until it slides into a reclined position where he can dazedly stare at the ceiling and recount the moment he was pummelled into the floor of the café.

“Go take some then, idiot,” she says sharply. When he peers at her, she’s grinning, looking amused by his stubbornness.

“ _Ngh,_ I can’t be bothered.” A paperclip hits the side of his cheek and he frowns, tilting his head until he’s glaring in his co-worker’s direction. He opens his mouth to protest, or to make a snarky remark when her phone cuts them both off. She gives him another smile and picks it up, flicking hair from her face and smiling even brighter when whoever was on the end of the line spoke.

“Okay,” she hums, pressing the speakerphone.

_“Hey! It’s me,”_ JJ says happily. _“Garcia just let me know that Hotch wants to meet around six, before we head home.”_

His disgruntled sigh must have been picked up by the receiver, because JJ adds, _“Not for a case debriefing though! I think he just wants a quick meeting. Probably about last week.”_

“Okay, thanks JJ, talk in a couple hours,” Emily finishes, turning the phone off speaker. “There you go,” she says positively. “Day one without a case down, however many more till you’re cleared for the field to go!”

“Sure,” he grimaces. “For now.”

He never had much luck with this kind of thing. He either grew bored of paperwork and ended up staying that way for a month with no cases, or he made plans and they were cut short by a quadruple homicide seven states over. There was no winning at the bureau.

In fairness, he did like to use the excuse of work for why he had not ‘found the time’ to progress any relationship past the one-week mark. Only his sisters cared, and even they didn’t really. They just liked to poke fun. Ma was better about it, _‘as long as you’re happy,’_ she’d say. Hopefully they’d get a case somewhere closer to Chicago soon, so he would have an excuse to book time off for a visit.

The rest of the day moves slowly, and he only gets through two more sets of paperwork by the time JJ steps out of her office and into the bullpen where he and Emily work quietly.

“Hello, hello! Let’s go people, Gideon’s on my back – he wants this done tonight,” she taps the barrier between their desks as she strides past, heels knocking across the carpet as she goes.

He exchanges a glance with Emily, shrugging in place of a real answer. He’s fairly certain this will be about the new applicants. Or applicant, because he would be willing to place money on Pretty Boy coming out on top, regardless of Gideon’s influence. With three PhD’s before his twenty-fifth on top of the two years of experience with the CIA, he’s doubtful anyone will surpass his level of qualification.

The two of them enter the conference room several steps behind JJ, with Penelope poking her way into the room afterwards.

“Hey, Mama,” he says coolly. “How’d your work go?”

Penelope pulls a face at him, very aware of what he was truly grilling her about.

“Well I don’t know, Mocha. Guess you’re just gonna have to wait and find out, huh?” She smiles widely, settling herself in the chair across from him as Hotch takes his place in his usual seat beside Gideon.

Derek opens his mouth to respond before realising he _is_ a profiler, and the grin on Penelope’s face can only really mean one thing.

“Alright,” Hotch starts, not bothering to wait until Derek chases his attention back on track. “Thank you for indulging this meeting. I thought it would be best to get this sorted so things can progress rather quickly from here.”

Emily and JJ look curious, while Gideon seems pleased with the outcome. Penelope is still struggling to keep her smile to an appropriate depth while Derek watches on in interest. “Gideon, Strauss and I have been discussing the opportunity for further recruitment –” Emily makes an audible noise of surprise – “And while this was always going to be an inevitable option for our team, I think the number of us who had to give up time-off for the undercover assignment only contributed to the decision being made.”

JJ had been the only one who hadn’t actively spent her past hundred Sunday’s huddled into a surveillance van, but it was a well-known fact that she often took potential case files home over the weekends regardless.

“How many new members are we prepared to take on board?” She asks. Gideon holds up a single finger in answer, and Hotch nods in recognition.

“And… this is happening when?” Emily presses.

Hotch and Gideon exchange a brief and silent communicative glance before answering.

“Assuming we can narrow the applicant pool down to a single candidate tonight, they’ll likely have their induction tomorrow and start officially next Monday.”

Derek makes the mistake of tilting his head just so, and Penelope’s grin fills his view. She raises and lowers her eyebrows in rapid succession, quick enough for the brief trade to flicker below Gideon’s radar.

“I was the last person hired so I don’t know how to process goes, but um…” Penelope looks to Hotch for an answer, and Gideon settles further into his chair. “Do you guys – well, what do you tell us about them?”

Derek watches Hotch raise a hand at hip height, settling her down – from what, he doesn’t know.

“The basics, Garcia,” he placates. “Again, assuming Gideon and I reach a consensus and Strauss gives us the go-ahead, we’ll meet again tomorrow morning and give a brief introduction.”

The entire introduction process had always given Derek preschool nostalgia. Of course, new additions to the team didn’t have to write their name on a whiteboard or tell everyone their favourite colour, but the principle was the same.

They sat in a circle at the briefing table. Hotch introduced them and often listed a few of their credentials and why they were suited to the job. Gideon piled on and guessed at which area each of them would slip into during casework, and they were sent out into the bullpen and given a desk.

Derek and JJ were hired only a month apart, and he still remembered both Emily and Penelope’s induction days. But after that, their team had remained as was, for the better part of two years.

_**Inertia** ; noun; resistance to change._

\----

“No, guys I promise you’ll _love_ him. He’s so sweet, trust me.” Penelope has one arm looped through Derek’s. Her handbag swings from her left arm as she points accusingly at JJ and Emily who seem far from convinced.

“How do you even know who they’re going to decide on?” JJ asks inquisitively. “I mean, I get that you can probably guess from the background checks who’s going to be nice and who isn’t, but you sound like you already know which applicant is being chosen.”

Penelope purses her lips in the same way Derek recognises she does when she’s been advised to stay quiet on a matter.

“Wasn’t uh – wasn’t Gideon pretty insistent on that one kid?” He says, bearing some of the heat.

“Oh, _kid?_ ” Emily interjects. All four of their shoes echo across the parking garage, Penelope’s heels more so than the rest.

He looks down at Penelope, raising his brows in question. How much exactly were they allowed to say? Emily has a firm enough grip on both of their expressions because her shoulders loosen as she tugs her keys from her pocket. “Oh, that is some good news,” she laughs. “I am not in the mood to be looked down on by some hot-shot forty-year-old with a superiority complex trying to play alpha male with the big leagues.”

Penelope giggles and gives his arm a gentle pat.

“Don’t worry Chocolate Six-Pack, I love it when you go macho-man on us.”

He rolls his eyes fondly as the four of them disperse, Penelope departing with a knowing wave.

The drive home is quieter than usual, which happens to be because of his insistent pondering and considering of his situation without the accompanying sound of his radio.

The way Derek saw it, he had three viable options when it came to interacting with new recruitment, Pretty Boy. 

The riskiest option would be to glide listlessly into a professional mindset whilst the kid settled into the rhythm of the job. He could treat him as he would any new member of the team, savoury, welcoming – but not overly so – and minimal flirtatious interactions. This was his least favourite option with the risk of the team picking up on his change in demeanour and making assumptions on why he so carefully chose to bury his obvious playful attraction to the other man.

Secondly, he could keep everything the same as it had been at the café. The only two foreseeable downsides to this option were one, Gideon’s distasteful reaction, which Derek was already perfectly aware of and two, Spencer himself. Reid – kid – Pretty Boy – _shit_. He had already debated on what was morally acceptable to label the boy as in his mind. His main worry was that Reid – _yes, Reid sounded better_ – would be pulled into the idea that Derek’s coquettish nature was implicative of a true sexual attraction.

Which it _was_ , if he had to be honest with himself. But Reid did not need to know that, especially not on his first day. For all he knew, Derek’s behaviour during the undercover work was simply that, a cover. A mask. 

Thirdly, and what he personally saw as the most practical option, would be to play the safe game and try to aim for a perfect combination of both. As long as he could school himself into a suitable balance of playful commentary and simple banter to a typical professional behaviour, neither his team nor Reid would be the wiser.

Having the game plan in place was relaxing, and by the time he was home and propped up against his couch, Clooney by his side, Penelope had sent a burst of texts for his viewing pleasure.

_**Baby Girl, Today at 8:13pm:** _

_Reads 20,000 words per minute – also mentioned in an article that he’d read ‘all the classics’? whatever that means? Talk to him abt books!_

_I’m screaming, he did an interview and the interviewer asked him why he chose Cal Tech over MIT or Stanford and then called him out on not including ‘weather or girls’ in his reasoning… gay?!? You might have a chance here, Hot Chocolate!_

He opens an image attachment and squints at the screen to make out the low definition capture Penelope must have taken on her own phone while she combed through the kid’s internet presence. It looks to be a copy of his dissertation, titled ‘Identifying Non-obvious relationship factors using cluster weighted modelling and geographic regression.’ Beneath it is his name, and below that is the mark of Cal Tech’s department of engineering.

_**Baby Girl, Today at 8:17pm:** _

_Maybe he can be our geographic profiler?! You know JJ and I hate having to do that >:(_

He chuckles, continuing to scroll through the helpful onslaught of information she’d found. None of it was incriminating – obviously – but he was glad all of it was superficial. He could probably find out the same things if he went through the effort of typing the kid’s name into any search engine.

Penelope’s last message for the night left him wondering about what else she had managed to dig up and learn on the boy.

_**Baby Girl, Today at 8:23pm:** _

_Be nice with him though, okay? He’s sweet and soft and I can already tell he deserves the world :(_

\----

He texts her the next morning asking to carpool, and she obliges with a winking emoji. He pulls up outside her apartment and grins as she rushes down the steps, handbag swinging almost as much as her hands as she clambers into the passenger seat.

“You get to meet your Pretty Boy for real today! And I’m so excited!” She sings, strapping herself in and looking to him enthusiastically.

“Yeah, hot tip – we probably _shouldn’t_ call him that aloud for the first couple weeks.” Penelope rolls her eyes at him and looks out the window as they drive. “You know, he’s got a PhD in engineering.”

“Okay…”

“You should talk to him about bombs,” she points out, as if he could’ve guessed that’s where her mind was going.

“Engineering and explosives engineering are pretty different fields.”

“I’m just saying you should talk to him about everything you can’t talk to the rest of us about! He’s smart, Mocha, take advantage of that and get to know him. Please, because I cannot take your insatiable pining.” 

Derek darts his eyes from the road to glare at her without heat. 

“What? Is that not what you thought I was doing? Oh, my sweet, stupid block of chocolate.”

“Woah, woah, woa –”

“I’ve been setting you up this entire time! Do me a favour and get on that pronto, lover boy.” She shakes her head in disbelief, laughing the whole time as Derek turns onto the right street that’ll take them to the parking garage.

“I don’t know why you’re eve –”

“Please, do not even _try_ to tell me you weren’t actually crushing on him. I have eyes, baby.”

He grumbles something unintelligible as a response and pulls them into a park. Penelope continues regaling him with tales of his various flirting techniques – almost all of which he’d tried on the kid at some point or another – before she drifts back into regular, run of the mill chatter.

Emily greets them as they enter the bullpen, JJ is sitting on the corner of her desk. They both nod silently towards Hotch’s office, where the door and blinds are closed. 

“They’ve been in there since we arrived. Gideon came out to grab a file about twenty minutes ago and none of them have come out since.” JJ explains.

Penelope puts her bag down on Derek’s desk and blows him a kiss as he wanders off to make himself coffee and drown out the gossip.

“Did you see the applicant? It had to have been the cutie, right? Surely!”

“Cutie, I thought you said he might be gay?” Emily whispers.

“Yeah, for _Derek_ ,” Penelope giggles.

He contains his own amusement and leans his head against the cupboards, watching the coffee pot intently.

By the time he’s made the cup and crossed his way back to the desks where the three girls are still sitting, they’re all back to staring up at Hotch’s office door.

“Why’re you all watching so closely? Did you make bets or something?” He teases, settling himself in at his own desk and tilting his chair so the door was in his peripherals.

“No, we just wanna know who’s joini –”

When the door finally twists JJ and Penelope almost fall off the side of Emily’s desk in shock. Derek suppresses a chuckle and turns back to face his desktop while the two girls scramble to look like they were discussing something of importance. Emily doesn’t bother with the charade, she simply smiles up at Gideon when he steps onto the landing with someone at his side.

Derek waits for the pleasantries and thank you’s to diminish completely before he turns his chair with one ankle.

He is unsurprised to find Reid following Gideon down the steps with Hotch trailing behind. He’s clutching a manilla folder, no doubt filled with his entry papers and contract. At his hip is the side bag he always carried with him in the café, and the touch of familiarity brings a tickle of contentment to Derek’s chest.

“Team,” Hotch starts off. He never calls them ‘team’ unless it’s a joint introduction to a precinct during a case. “I would like to introduce you all to our newest member, Doctor Spencer Reid.”

The kid – _Reid_ , Derek reminds himself – smiles in a tight-lipped, frog-like way and lifts one hand in a gentle wave. He grips the strap of his side bag and unconsciously shuffles his weight to his left foot, closest to where Gideon stands.

Derek tries not to profile him, he really does, they’ve been conditioned into avoiding such a bad habit, but struggles to ignore the urge to unpack this – this… six foot, baby-faced, doe-eyed child currently in his midst.

He’s clearly out of his depth, or more likely he’s picked up on the fact that everyone else expects him to be. He is slightly tilted to one side, perpetually close to Gideon in a way that endlessly confuses Derek. Nimble fingers twist and pick at the seams of his bag, and based on what he’s seen so far, Derek guesses the object matters more for occupation and comfort than actual usability or practicality. There is no ring on his finger – but this is slowly slipping out of profiling and into potential compatibility seeking – and he doesn’t meet anybody’s eyes straight on.

“This is Jennifer Jareau, our media liaison,” Hotch introduces.

“Friends call me JJ,” she says kindly, smiling sweetly in Spencer’s direction to which he mirrors endearingly. “This is Emily Prentiss, I call her Em,” she continues.

Emily rolls her eyes warm-heartedly and greets Reid with a single wave and a soft ‘hey,’ which makes the boy smile wider.

“And Penelope Garcia, our technical analyst.” Penelope smiles cheerily, much wider than JJ and Emily, she waves with more enthusiasm and bubbles off into an excitable first impression almost immediately.

“Hi, gosh you’re so –” she pinches her fingers together as if to say ‘little’ or squeezable, Derek didn’t care to guess, but Penelope catches Gideon’s raised brow and continues on rather quickly. “I was doing surveillance during the café job. You and your textbooks and little americanos, honestly you’re a little Boy Wonder already!”

A flush radiates high on Reid’s cheeks and he ducks his head as his smile broadens more genuinely. Derek wants to kick himself when his first thought is how much it suits the kid.

“Thanks,” he commends, running two fingers along the inseam of his bag strap once more. “The job was actually a – uh, a nice excuse to pad out my resume and slip in some extra work on my next part-time BA.”

“You didn’t tell me you were working on another,” Gideon says at the same time Emily asks about what he happened to be studying.

“Philosophy,” Reid answers before turning to face Gideon. “And uh, I didn’t think you’d particularly care for it,” he points out with an air of shyness to his words.

“Mm,” Gideon hums, looking unimpressed. “A bit trivial, if you ask me,” he gripes.

“Jason,” Hotch says tiredly. “Reid, this is SSA Derek Morgan, our expert on obsessional behaviour. I’m sure you remember him from our previous operation.” Spencer tilts his head to face him, a stray hair untucking from behind his ear which is pushed back in place almost immediately.

“Hi,” the kid acknowledges. The words had more of an impression behind them, he clearly wasn’t as timid as he had been in the café, although Derek holds a suspicion that the confidence may stem from Gideon’s presence.

“Hey, nice to meet you for real.” He extends a hand to shake, smiling invitingly as the three girls had.

“He doesn’t sha –” Gideon begins. But then warm, soft skin envelopes Derek’s hand and Spencer shakes happily, a smile still hung on his delicate lips. The two of them meet eyes, and Derek returns the solid gesture of affection with warmth.

“Morgan will help Prentiss show you the ropes once you’ve progressed to field work,” Hotch clarifies. Spencer lets the handshake drop, as does the eye contact as he nods in response to Hotch’s direction.

“If Morgan’s cleared for field work, by then,” Gideon points out.

Derek represses a frown, or a noise of disfavour for his superior’s needless comment. Hotch meets his eyes, a nonverbal suggestion to _overlook_ Gideon’s new generalised protective and cold nature.

“Garcia, if you wouldn’t mind setting Reid up digitally? I’ll prep everything for you to be able to enter him into our system database later today.” Hotch scans the office before gesturing to the empty desk facing Morgan’s, “feel free to take the spare workspace.” Penelope briefly meets Derek’s eyes, encouragement flashing through them brightly. She probably had thousands of office rom-com’s floating through her head right about now.

“Yes, sir,” she manages, waving an arm in invitation for Spencer to follow, which he does with a cautious but thankful look to Gideon.

Emily watches for a moment before turning back to JJ, beginning a discussion on a case then proceeding to follow her to the private office the liaison had been given. Derek slumps in his own desk chair, polishing the remainder of his coffee off as Penelope situates herself among Spencer’s new cubicle.

“We could get you a divider but they’re so suffocating and the only real purpose was to hang pictures up around… we were actually talking about throwing Derek and Emily’s in storage, weren’t we, Sugar?”

“Hm?” He answers dumbly. Penelope wrinkles her nose and laughs gently.

“I was just telling Spence – you don’t mind if I call you that, right? Hotch likes using last names in professional settings but it’s so boring and –”

“Sweetness, where were you headed off to?”

“Yeah, I was telling Spencer how much these dividers suck and mentioned you and Em might get rid of your own. So, there’s not really much point in getting you two one, is there?” She wags an eyebrow, luckily Reid was busy adjusting his office chair and missed the interaction.

“Sure, why not,” he yields. He phases out for another long minute as Penelope scrawls out the kid’s log-on information and walks him through setting up his new desktop.

“So, philosophy, huh?” Is what he hears when he realigns his focus from work to Penelope and Spencer’s conversation.

“Uh, yep. I um, I kinda ran out of useful degrees to focus on and my last job was kind of draining. I guess I just needed something to occupy my time that was more gripping than a desk job.” He’s sweet when he speaks, a justifiable level of timidity in his voice, but true passion and thought goes into what he’s saying.

“Desk job, weren’t you CIA?” Penelope asks over the sound of her own fingers across the keypad.

“Yeah. All I had to do everyday was run estimated guesses on the probability of actual crimes being committed by people on the watch list,” the kid answers casually. Derek lifts his chin up, paying full attention now.

“Ew, desk job boredom,” she echoes. “Derek can testify to that.”

“Yeah, um,” Spencer wrings his spindly little fingers together and peeks up past his screen to engage Derek in the conversation. “Gideon mentioned being cleared for field work? Is that… I don’t want to be intrusive, but…”

“Yeah, kid, no trouble,” he eases. “Huntly took me down at a bad angle. I’ll be fine in a couple of weeks.”

“Oh! Speaking of which,” Penelope gasps animatedly. “The way you took down the other guy – oh my gosh, it was like something out of a movie!” Her gushing raises back the warm tint to the boy’s cheeks, and Derek turns back to his case files before falling deeper into his pit of enamour.

“Thank you,” Spencer mumbles, the redness so predominant by now that Derek can almost hear it in his voice.

“Where did you learn that? It was so – so… gripping and racy, you’re like a little minx.” Derek closes his eyes as he hears the kid choke lightly under the weight of Penelope’s praise, trying not to replay the memory of the kid – _twenty-four, for God’s sake, he’s twenty-four_ – hooking one slender, flexible leg across their target and straddling his back as soon as he hit the deck.

“Uh, I applied to the academy with a – uhm, a friend of mine, after college and we took combat classes together before he dropped out.”

Derek is not supposed to profile – he isn’t. But then again, ‘a friend of mine’ and ‘ _a – uhm_ , a friend of mine,’ hold two vastly different meanings. And Derek does not like the way his brain is choosing to focus on the ‘before _he_ dropped out.’

Penelope makes a quiet growling sound in the back of her throat and laughs openly when Spencer rubs the back of his neck and flushes a deeper scarlet.

“Oh Boy Genius, join the club.”

_Yes,_ Derek decided, _these next few weeks were going to be particularly difficult for him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is [@Svn-f1ower-cm](https://svn-f1ower-cm.tumblr.com/)
> 
> my heart goes <3<3<3 when anyone sends asks


	5. You Already Got A Latte Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek attempts to work out why majority of the team already loves the new kid as well as his own totally platonic work-related feelings for said kid, while Spencer ponders on his old job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Agib for my name!
> 
> <3 for my Beta, Dani, and her Ao3: [Starsandsupernovae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandsupernovae)  
> And her gorgeous tumblr: [@reid-and-writing](https://reid-and-writing.tumblr.com/)

The weekend passes by slowly, but Derek finds himself rolling through the glass doors and into the bullpen all too quickly.

He’s still berating himself for the legitimate dilemma of whether he should have shown up with coffee for the kid – he did know how he took it, after all. The gesture would’ve been too much, he decided in the end. Far too reminiscent of the weeks he’d spent religiously flirting with someone who was now strictly a co-worker.

It takes him a moment to adjust to the sight of the desk opposite his own filled with paperwork, stationary, and crumpled post-it notes. The boy is idly swinging back and forth in his office chair, two coffee cups already stacked atop each other in his small bin.

“Hey,” he greets casually. Reid perks up, meeting his eyes and smiling. He sits with one leg folded in the seat of the chair and tucked beneath his opposite thigh, and it gives the illusion that he’s much smaller than Derek knows he is.

The divider hasn’t been put up, and the one between his and Emily’s desks has also disappeared.

“Morning, Agent Morgan,” Reid responds. He must be wearing contacts because the glasses he had on for the duration of their undercover work are missing. Derek bites the inside of his cheek and shepherds his thoughts away from how he preferred them.

“Just Morgan is fine for the office, seriously, kid.” He grins, making sure the suggestion is only that, a friendly proposal. He really didn’t need the experience – and therefore authority – he had over the boy to be rubbed in his face every time they interacted.

He already felt bad enough for hitting on him.

“Oh, um, okay. Thanks,” Reid mumbles. His finger twitches towards his nose and Derek recognises the action as a nervous habit, which would typically be pushing the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. It was worrying how much he knew about the kid already.

He hesitates at his chair, places his own coffee down and checks the message left blinking on his receiver. Hotch has requested a ‘brief talk,’ on the subject of Morgan’s recovery.

Derek has always been aware of Hotch’s dedication to the team’s health and safety. He appreciates it to a certain extent, but fractured ribs were a far cry from broken ones.

Evidently enough, after Derek climbs the flight of stairs and meets Hotch in his office, his unit chief disagrees, much to Derek’s disappointment. Regardless of a case’s intensity, it was strongly suggested that he consults from Quantico.

“As helpful as you are in the field, I’m not willing to risk your recovery.” Hotch is blunt with him, which Derek finds more comforting than the persistent sugar coating from his old superiors.

“It’s hardly a recovery, man,” he shoots back with an air of good-natured humour.

“Regardless,” Hotch says stiffly. “We have a few potential cases JJ is considering sending us out for. You _will_ be staying behind; Penelope is well equipped to keep you in the loop.”

With the piles of applicants no longer spread across Hotch’s desk, the man seems far less stressed, but the attitude doesn’t seem to make anything easier for Derek. “I would also like you to be able to walk Doctor Reid through the consulting process, and if both of you are in the office it will be far easier.”

“Alright.” There’s a pause in their back-and-forth after his answer, and Hotch tilts his head as if considering him.

“You sound surprised,” Aaron points out.

“It’s nothing,” Derek shrugs off. “I just assumed Gideon would be training him.”

“We need Gideon for case work, especially without you in the field. It’ll be beneficial for Reid to learn from a teammate over a superior.” _Yeah,_ Derek thinks, _a teammate who wouldn’t stop flirting with him for several months._ Though, there is something else buried in Hotch’s tone that makes Derek think there is something he isn’t saying.

His face must express his confusion, because Hotch sighs, glances towards his door and answers the silent question. “Gideon has known him since he was twelve, and he demonstrates a fair amount of…”

“Protective nature?”

“Sure,” Hotch relents. “I’m just saying, we’ve all worked together for roughly two years now. Acclimating in a stressful environment with a tight knit team like our own is hard enough without Gideon perpetuating Doctor Reid’s… withdrawn nature.”

The comment runs along the same vein as Penelope’s comment. _Be nice with him… I can already tell he deserves the world._ Derek finds himself squinting uncertainty in Hotch’s direction.

“Right,” is all he finds the ability to say. 

Hotch nods curtly and the remainder of their conversation is nothing special. Derek is inherently glad when he is dismissed back to the bullpen.

Emily has returned to her desk and is entertaining an animated conversation with the kid, who’s leaning forward and excitedly gesturing about whatever they’re talking about.

Derek hovers at the bottom of the stairs up to Hotch’s office and watches the two of them conversing before turning in the opposite direction and making a beeline for Garcia.

“Hello,” Penelope purrs when he slides into her office. “How’s the seating arrangement working out?” She seems rather smug for someone so used to meddling. “I got you an awfully pretty view, didn’t I?”

Derek laughs incredulously, kissing the top of her head and leaning against her desk.

“Thanks for that,” he says stiffly. The tone wasn’t his intention, but he’s preoccupied questioning how the kid has managed to get Penelope, Gideon _and_ Hotch to soften for him within the second day of work, like butter on a stovetop.

“Why so gloomy?” She asks, turning fully to face him, the lines of code across her screen forgotten.

“It’s sounding like they’re all getting a case,” he sighs. Derek is perfectly aware of how melodramatic he’s being, but the persistent battle of professionalism against his teasing nature is driving him into the ground.

“Then it’ll be just us and y –”

“If you say, ‘and your Pretty Boy,’ I’m cancelling lunch,” he cautions. Penelope purses her lips and mutters something about him always ruining her fun.

“In all seriousness, if the others are called on a case, it’ll be us and Reid. Aren’t you supposed to be mentoring him through the case procedures?” 

He narrows his eyes.

“Stop eavesdropping. I swear it’s like you’ve got little mics everywhere.” 

Penelope grins like a cat and turns back to her computer.

“You need to loosen up, Sugar,” she hums. “Now go, JJ’s asking for actual work from me.”

He makes it halfway out the door before Penelope’s calling him back. “Oh! Oh, wait!” She flashes him a gleaming look that he’s come to recognise as her wanting something from him. “Let me invite him to lunch with us?”

“Sure,” he says. “If you tell me why you like him so much already.”

Penelope glares, and he shoots her a wink as the door closes behind him.

\----

When he returns to the bullpen, not only is Emily still leant halfway across her desk, locked in conversation, but now JJ is perched on the corner of Spencer’s desk, watching the both of them interact with interest.

Reid is throwing out long, vaguely Russian sounding names and Emily meets them all with further intrigue.

“God, you have no idea how relieving it is to find someone to actually go see Russian theatre with,” Emily says pointedly. JJ rolls her eyes incredulously.

“It’s not my fault I’m not fluent in Russian and all the theatres you take me to don’t have snacks,” she responds with thick snark.

“You’re fluent?” Derek interjects as he reclines himself in the desk chair.

“I can hold a conversation,” Emily shrugs. The two of them turn to Spencer, who’s fiddling with the cap of a pen.

“Um, I can understand parts of the language I’ve read before. So, I could probably try and hold a conversation?” He looks down to the patterning of the wood top of his desk and traces an idle finger across the length of it.

“Only what you’ve read, how does that work?” JJ asks curiously. There’s no malice in her tone, but Spencer tightens his shoulder. Presumably, he isn’t familiar with being placed at the centre of an interaction.

“I have an eidetic memory,” he admits.

JJ opens her mouth to respond before her cell buzzes where it rests at the corner of Emily’s desk.

“Is that like a photographic memory, then?” Derek asks.

“Uh, kinda, yeah. It’s mostly for things I read or see.” His cheeks have reddened again. While Derek has only noticed it in conversations the two of them have shared, he brushes it off under the assumption that being as pale as Reid was just the cause for recurrent pinkening.

“Huh,” Emily hums. “Well that’ll be useful for case work, I guess.”

“Yeah! I actually really love researching cold cases and th -”

“Guys,” JJ says quietly, one hand clasped over the receiver of her phone. “Speaking of cases…” her head nudges towards the cell, looking disappointed to break up the discussion.

Morgan sighs, unhappy despite being given a heads-up on the inevitable case. He watches JJ flick her phone shut and exchange a serious glance with Emily, who trails along behind her as she makes her way to Hotch’s office.

Spencer swings in his chair, facing Derek with a confused expression painted across his delicate features. His eyes are a warm brown, almost olive in the bright light of his desk lamp.

“Case,” he answered, disgruntled beyond belief. When he sees Spencer’s posture straighten in excitement he shakes his head with a chuckle. “Don’t go getting your hopes up, kid. You’re confined to the office with Garcia and I.”

“Oh,” Reid deflates. “That’s okay, we still consult, right?”

“Yep.”

The way Spencer perks right back up is so endearing it’s honestly almost painful to watch, especially considering they were _co-workers. Work colleagues and nothing more._

“Morgan, Reid, briefing room in five. The Holland case’s got two new bodies.”

“Shit,” he murmurs. “Alright, lets go,” he directs, nodding in the direction of the briefing room for Spencer’s benefit as Penelope comes rushing down the hall.

“Lets go, we’ve got two new -”

“Yeah, we know, Babygirl,” he sighs. Penelope frowns but still proceeds to link arms with him and march towards the briefing room.

“You squeamish at all, Spence?” She asks conversationally as they file into seats at the roundtable.

“Not particularly?”

“Good, because these are always horrid for first-timers, trust me,” she promises as she starts up the projector screen.

“He’s acquainted enough,” Gideon says as he seats himself directly across from the kid. Spencer nods at the floor, twitching in his chair. 

“Right,” Penelope says, glancing towards Spencer apologetically, as if saddened by his acquaintance with corpses. “Anyway -” She pauses, waiting for Hotch’s nod to go-ahead before ploughing into the case’s history. “Nathan Heys, thirty-six and married with three children was found just outside the border of Michigan’s lower peninsula and into Ohio…”

\----

The case wasn’t particularly brutal or hellish in any unique way, though Derek always carried a sense of guilt thinking these things about murder. Loved ones were lost, after all.

“You okay? Not too much?” Penelope is saying to his left, but when he glances up she’s addressing Spencer who follows alongside the both of them.

“Uh, no. It was - it was alright. A little um, a bit confusing, but I’ll figure it out.”

“Confusing?” Penelope questions, already looking fully prepared to re-explain the entire case briefing.

“Yeah, well I mean… I don’t understand why our unsub would deviate from his comfort zone. His first four victims were well-within central Michigan, and now suddenly his fifth and sixth are over the border.”

Penelope only blinks at him, expecting further confusion and not a perfectly comprehensive and analytical response to their unsub’s patterns.

Spencer’s shoes - beaten and worn Converse Chuck’s that had well-past seen their day - scuffed against the floor when he stopped in his path. “Oh - oh, God. He crossed the border and that’s why we took interest, it places the case directly in our jurisdiction.”

“What’re y -”

“Could indicate either inconsistency or an intimate knowledge of legal procedures,” Derek follows. “And if our guy is in a position of authority he’s going to get a hell of a lot more killing done before Hotch realises the case information is being leaked directly to the source.”

Spencer bites his inner lip, glancing back towards the briefing room.

“We should really -”

“On it,” he finishes.

Spencer lingers at Penelope’s side for a moment, watching Derek jog up the flight of stairs.

“I don’t understand how your brains even… you guys need to drink less coffee,” the blonde mutters. “Anyway! Come, come! I wanna show you my office while the others set up for takeoff.”

“Takeoff?”

“The bureau has its own private jet that we charter for important cases.” She wiggles her perfectly arched brows and grins at him when his lips form a small ‘o’ in surprise.

“Gideon never told me you guys had your own jet.” He’s scurrying slightly to keep up with Penelope who’s so familiar with the layout that she can maintain eye contact, a conversation and balancing in high heels without looking where she’s going.

“It’s shared among the other teams, but it’s not used every week, let's just say that.” She grins in his direction before slowing to a stop and placing two hands against the door - Spencer assumes - to her office. It’s labelled ‘615W Digital Analysis’ which Penelope wrinkles her nose at as she punches in her code. “Mi casa es tu casa,” she declares.

“My home is your home,” Spencer mumbles to himself as he pokes his head through the now opened door.

Penelope must sense his unease because she wanders into her own room, plops herself down on one of her swinging desk chairs and pushes herself in a slow circle, one arm outstretched.

“Welcome to the lair, you’re going to be spending a lot of time in here with me and Derek on this new case that’s cropped up.” Spencer nods halfheartedly, padding carefully over the fluffed carpeting. 

There were large computer and TV screens mounted on almost every blank slate of wall, only several of which were turned on or in some form of use. Her desk was dark, red wood, and L-shaped, curving around the entire back surface of the room. It was cluttered with a wide variety of gadgets, toys and accessories, all of which drew the eye and maintained the colourful atmosphere.

Gideon had mentioned the unspoken ‘no inter-team profiling’ rule, but he figured drawing general conclusions based on his co-workers personality and private space was on par with what anybody could assume, trained profiler or not.

There was a large, hot pink bracelet draped over the plain, silver lamp in the corner of the desk. Beside that was a phone hanging askew from its receiver, surrounded by stuffed-toy flowers. A pink and orange lava lamp hummed listlessly to the side, lighting the remainder of Penelope’s trinkets in a warm glow. Even her keypad was graffiti-coloured bubbles. There was a piggy bank, a tape dispenser shaped like a black high-heel, a squishy dinosaur toy and a massive array of fluffy, oversized or painfully bright stationary spread across her work surface.

“You like?” She asks nicely, reaching out to adjust a pair of ceramic hedgehogs so they were pressed together in a happy little duo.

“I uh - yeah, yes. Absolutely,” he stutters, still finding his bearings among this new world of colours and textures he didn’t expect to find in a federal building. “It’s very… um... very ‘ _you_ ,’ if i can say so without offence.”

He cringes a moment, hoping against everything within him that his statement was taken as the compliment he had aimed for.

Penelope softens and squeezes her hands together proudly.

“Oh, thank you! You’re too sweet, Boy Wonder.” He relaxes slightly, smiling fondly in response. 

Though he had only known her for less than a week, Penelope already seemed warm and welcoming. She looked to be the positive, bubbly light of the BAU, even in the face of murderers and serial killers.

“Hey,” a knock came from the door frame and the two of them turned to see Derek halfway leaned into the room. “Hotch sends thanks for the heads up,” he directs to Spencer who fights to keep a pleased smile off his face under the weight of his new superior’s praise. “And they’re taking off in ten,” he puts his chin out and looks at Penelope. “So… if you want to send them the files we’re clear for the next hour and a half.”

Penelope beams and turns on Spencer, who redirects his focus from her impressively flawless eyeliner to her words.

“Speaking of being free, would you be down for lunch today?”

Spencer blinks, surprised by the offer. It typically took… well, being asked on group outings _didn’t_ typically happen very often for him.

“Um, y - yeah, yes. That would be - that’d be really nice, actually.” He watches Penelope and Derek make eye contact before they each return his shaky smile, and he prays this isn’t some kind of trick. But this was a work environment, they were all adults here. Gideon had promised him that everyone on the team was good-natured. This wasn’t high-school all over again, these were two co-workers being genuinely inviting.

“Perfect! Let me just send Hotch all the case files and evidence so we can head off.” She smiles happily, waving him and Derek off to get their wallets and wait for her in the bullpen.

“So, how’re you finding the practical application?” Morgan says conversationally.

“It’s fine, about what I expected. I used to work on cold cases with Gideon after lectures sometimes.” 

Morgan tilts his head in response, keeping stride with him as they returned to the bullpen.

“So, you guys seem pretty close,” he leads.

“Y - yeah, I guess.” Spencer already sounds hesitant, and Derek is ready to drop the subject as quickly as he’d picked it up until the kid continues. “He’s always been… Well he’s been there for me for years, really.”

“Oh?” Derek is perfectly aware of how much he should know about Reid, versus how much knowledge he actually possessed after conversations with Penelope and Hotch.

“I graduated early and started college quite young, so we met really quickly after he guest lectured because I kind of stuck out like a sore thumb,” he laughs quietly and ducks his head when Derek does the same. “He’s basically the reason I’m here right now and have this job.”

Derek nods kindly, softening at the edges while Spencer picks up his side bag and swings it over his shoulder to wait for Penelope.

“That’s nice,” he says honestly. “Is that where he was for those six months two years ago? Lecturing, I mean.”

“Yeah, he took a temp position during my last year and got called back around the time I got my job with the CIA.” His nose twitches when he finishes his sentence, and his nervous motions cycle back into play. “I’m, um - I’m really glad he helped me transfer to the BAU though.”

“Oh yeah? Central Intelligence not your style, then?”

Spencer shakes his head, looking increasingly uncomfortable with the track of the conversation.

“Let’s go babes, come on!” Penelope yells from the doorframe of the hall, clapping her hands together and breaking the moment, which Derek is only half grateful for. “I’m famished, I want a warm croissant, chop chop.”

“Ready?” Derek asks, letting Penelope hook her arm through his own as he waits for Reid’s answer.

“Yeah, yep.”

\----

The café they were at was small, considerably cosy and very warm. Penelope sat happily in a bench seat, with the croissant she had hoped for.

Derek sat beside Reid, a BLT on a plate sitting in front of him.

Spencer had a coffee and a blueberry muffin, one leg tucked under his opposite thigh just like how he sits at his desk in the office. 

“So,” Penelope started, leaning forward in her seat until she’s bent over half the table. “What made you want to transfer to the team?”

“Um,” Spencer swallows, pushing his coffee mug in a small circle. “Gideon talks a lot about you guys,” he admits. Penelope laughs at that, her eyes sparking up in interest.

“All good things, I hope.” Derek jokes, nudging the boy with his elbow.

Derek Morgan. _Non-toxic masculinity but enough repressed emotions to drown a fish._

Penelope Garcia. _Eccentric but gratuitously kind-hearted._

“Yeah, good things,” he says quietly. “He said he knew I’d fit in here, with you guys.” Penelope softens once more, smiling sweetly.

“Oh, of course you will - you already are!” She pecks her lips in a mock blown kiss and gives him a small wave as she stands up, “I’m going to the ladies’ room, Derek, be nice.”

“As if I’m ever not,” Derek scoffs, waving her off with a grin as wide as Texas. Spencer observes the way the Agent watches her for a moment before turning back to face him, the smile still hanging from his lips.

It makes Spencer’s stomach flutter in response.

“So,” Morgan starts.

“So…?” Spencer repeats hesitantly.

“What made you want to switch to the FBI?”

Spencer swallows thickly, picking at a spare crumb from his muffin.

_Part of him wishes he’d never found that file, while the other - larger - portion of him knows that finding out about it was better than having continued to unknowingly work for an organisation that would ever do such horrid things._

“Gideon had been hounding me for about two years and I got sick of desk work, I wanted to actually know I was making a difference.”

_Difference in a positive way, not in a compliant, ignorant way._

“Well, I have to say we’re lucky to have you then, doc.”

The nickname warms his cheeks, makes him feel respected like he wasn’t really just a hotshot kid being pigeonholed into the workforce slightly earlier than the rest of them.

“Lucky to be here, likewise,” he says happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr is [@ag-ib](https://ag-ib.tumblr.com/)
> 
> my heart goes <3<3<3 when anyone sends asks

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline wise, imagine Elle left way earlier, Emily was introduced sooner, Morgan isn't thirty like he canonically is in season one, (assume he's about 26). And for the sake of continuity, imagine this doesn't mess up the timeline.


End file.
